


Glitter and Gold

by actualkoschei



Series: Fanfic Inktober 2019 [2]
Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Based off a dnd campaign, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Smut, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 09:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualkoschei/pseuds/actualkoschei
Summary: One lonely addict seeks out another on a dark Rapture maybe-night. For Inktober prompt two "mindless".





	Glitter and Gold

**Author's Note:**

> In which my first posted smut is my PC and my boyfriend's NPC from his Bioshock-setting DND campaign.

There had stopped being a day a long time ago. Long enough ago that Clarence had stopped trying to count the hours. In some corner of his mind, he remembered church bells. But there were none to be heard down here. Only the muted sounds of the ocean, sending shivers down his spine and soothing warmth through his chest in equal measure. 

In the neon-tinted half-dark, he lay on his mattress and shook. Cold sweat painted his dirty once-white undershirt to his sallow skin. His fingers clutched, white-knuckled-tight, around the butt of an empty shotgun. His other hand dug into the ticking covering the bare mattress, his nails too long, split and caked with blood and dirt. 

There might be money in his jacket pocket, he thought, glaring up at his old airman’s jacket, heavily patched with mismatched fabrics, where it was thrown over the back of threadbare upholstered chair with holes exposing its springs, the only other furniture in his two room apartment, save for the bath, sink, and toilet, and a small unstable wooden table. But it seemed too hard to get up and grab his jacket and check. He squinted at it, blinking burning bleariness from bloodshot eyes. 

Switching suddenly, unexpectedly from lethargy to manic energy, he sprang up and started rifling through pockets with almost enough force to tear the worn-out fabric of the jacket. Nothing. Well, not nothing. His search yielded two spent bullet casings and an empty gum wrapper. But none of that was useful to him. Not now, or really, not ever. He sighed in frustration, then groaned out louder, almost a cry, as he collapsed back into the chair, tipping it backwards with the force of his weight. He still possessed considerable bulk and muscle, even after years of such malnourishment that his ribcage showed through his skin and his collarbones looked sharp enough to cut. 

Clarence didn’t want to confront the nothingness he had. No money, no food left, and worst of all, no ADAM. His hands were shaking, he was sweating. His mouth was dry, and his nausea was rising painfully. His head spun dizzily. He could feel his mind slipping, and it sickened him. How much longer did he have before he’d be out roaming the street, mindless and desperate? 

_ Mindless and desperate _ , now that brought a thought to his mind. A thought, a face.  An idea. He sprang to his feet again, and this time he was running for the door, throwing his jacket over his shoulders and he went, keys jangling in his pocket. He locked the door behind him, though he wasn’t sure if there was much point. Not like he had anything to steal. Though there were some wouldn’t be above stealing his spare clean shirt, or his furniture to sell. 

It was a  fair ways to where the artists live, but with his eyes blurred and his feet unsteady, he barely noticed. A baseball bat, grabbed from beside the door, hung from his hand, a warning to whoever might have decided that even he, with his bulky physique and the glare on his face, might be worth messing with. 

He was dizzy enough for it to be hard to stay standing by the time he was knocking on Percy’s door. He considered briefly that there might be no answer. Percy might be many places other than at home. Out at one of the artist’s parties Clarence so studiously avoided, or in someone else’s bed. 

Yet Percy answered the door a moment later, his face uncovered by his usual mask and his shirt hanging loose over his chest, perhaps because several of the buttons had been torn straight off. “Hello, darling.” He raked his eyes over Clarence appraisingly. “Hadn’t expected to see you today.”

“Hmph. Well. I’m here now.” He put his hand out against the doorway to support himself. “Going to let me in?”

“I suppose so.” He stepped out of the way, and he  made an effort to sound reluctant. But Clarence wasn’t even all the way through the door before Percy was grabbing his collar and yanking him down into a forceful, teeth-filled kiss. 

Clarence licked into his mouth, tasting blood and traces of ozone. “Missed you.” He grinned at Percy, and blood from one of their split lips was smeared over his mouth and teeth in coppery streaks. 

“What do you want?”

“Can’t I just want to see you?”

“You  _ could _ . But you  _ don’t _ . You might have been that soft, if you had stayed on the surface. But you didn’t, so you’re not.”

“You’re right.” He pushed further into the apartment, closing the door behind him and crowding Percy against the wall. “I didn’t come here for a social call.”

“What do you want, then, I repeat?” Percy wriggled in the space he was allowed between Clarence and the whole, shaking his shirt loose from one too-thin shoulder. 

Clarence laid his hand on the newly exposed skin and dug his fingers in, hard enough for his fingers to leave bruises on the anemic flesh. 

Percy shivered under the touch and grinned up at him, all teeth and venomous promise. “Mm.” He arched his body towards him, pressing them together, and kicked a leg loose to twine around Clarence’s ankles. 

Clarence’s other hand drifted down to squeeze Percy’s hip. “ADAM first.”

Percy let his head fall backwards against the wall and pulled an exaggeratedly wounded face in Clarence’s direction. “You come here to steal from me?”

“Is it stealing if I promise you something nice in return?” Clarence ran a hand up the inside of Percy’s thigh, stopping just a breath short of his groin. 

Squirming pleasurably, Percy bent forward to nip at Clarence’s lip. “You drive a hard bargain. Alright, love. Come and lie down.”

Clarence lay down on Percy’s worn couch, tapping at his wrist with the fingers of the other hand to bring out a vein. It wasn’t as hard as it used to be. Maybe it was the weight he’d lost, or the practice he had had over the past years. 

Percy handed him a needle, probably used, probably blunt, but full of the shimmering liquid that Clarence craved. Clarence’s shuddering was in pleasurable anticipation now. Then came the sting of the needle, and then the electric rush of relief through his veins. 

And then Percy was on the couch, straddling him, kissing him again. The needle was thrown to the floor, forgotten. 

Clarence wrapped his arms around Percy’s waist, let his hands wander, groping and grasping. Squeezing at his ass, then reaching around to undo his fly.

Percy made a high-pitched, desperate sound when Clarence’s hand wrapped around his cock. “That’s it, yes, that’s the stuff...” He trailed  off, and bent down to bury his face in the crook of Clarence’s neck, kissing and sucking at the skin there, tasting salt and coppery tang. He ran his hand down between them, rubbing at Clarence through his pants. His words were gone, and he had only soft breathy sounds left to make. 

Clarence was sighing underneath him, legs parted for Percy’s hand to slide between them, his cheeks flushed rosy red with a shade too innocent for the man he had become. Percy kissed the blush on his cheeks, and closed his eyes, and pretended they were somewhere else. Pretended he was touching and kissing the better man he knew his lover must have been before Rapture took him and twisted him into the tired, worn-out Splicer lying under him.


End file.
